


Comfort of Home

by irisqod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:58:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisqod/pseuds/irisqod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of them had carried the phantom of the other while they were apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort of Home

“Sherlock?” John shifted a bit, tucking his head into Sherlock’s shoulder and neck.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock wiggled a little and slid farther down on the sofa.

“I’m not too heavy, laying on you like this?”

“No, John.” In point of fact, Sherlock loved having John curl up on him like this. He loved to feel John’s warm, solid weight on him, pressing him down and anchoring him. Holding John this way helped him relax and let his mind drift in a less manic way than it did normally.

Sherlock had finally swept away the last remnants of Moriarty’s organization and had come home to Baker Street. It took a while to convince him, but John finally calmed down and moved back in with him. He had been so angry at first that Sherlock thought he had driven John away from him for good.

John’s words played in his head. He had been screaming at Sherlock in the flat:

_You jumped, but I fell too. I fell apart! Did you ever stop to think what it would do to me to have to watch you die? You made me watch!_  
 _You didn’t just kill yourself that day, Sherlock. You killed me too!_  
 _You made Molly lie to me, to everyone, you insufferable bastard._  
 _Mycroft knew too? God Sherlock, you didn’t trust me!_  
 _You didn’t trust_ me…  
 _Please, leave me alone._

But that was 3 weeks ago. John was back at home where he belonged. Mycroft had performed the legal miracle of bringing Sherlock back from the dead and they went about the business of getting to know each other once again.

Reacquainting themselves was easy really, each of them had carried the phantom of the other while they were apart. Now it was just a matter of fitting back together. 

And fit they did; they seemed to be caught in each other’s field of gravity. As the days passed, they inched closer together. Sitting closer together on the sofa, knees touching. Sharing the sink and mirror in the mornings while they shaved and cleaned their teeth. Fingers lingering overlong when the milk or sugar was passed at the table. Their orbits were decaying and soon they would crash into each other.

One morning, John was on his way out to the A&E where he worked and as he passed Sherlock, he gave him a kiss on the cheek like it was the most normal thing in the world. He was halfway down the steps when he realized what he’d done. He couldn’t bring himself to go back; he was too embarrassed and he’d be late for work. Sherlock was so flummoxed that sat at his microscope for 2 hours and didn’t move. He could swear he could feel the warmth from John’s lips pressed there for the rest of the day.

When John returned home at the end of his shift, he was ready for an awkward conversation. Full of apologies, he opened the door, “Sherlock, I need to talk to you.”

The detective was in a familiar pose; at the window, violin under his chin and back to the room. 

“I’m sorry about what I did this morning. I wasn’t thinking, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” John realized that Sherlock wasn’t playing anything. “Sherlock, did you hear me?”

“Yes John, I heard you. I have been thinking about what you did this morning and I remembered what you said to me when I first saw you here after I returned.” Sherlock turned to look at the doctor. “You said you loved me.” He put his violin down. 

John was pinned where he stood by Sherlock’s steady gaze. Eyes that were like an ocean made of emeralds locked with his and made him feel more exposed than if he was standing there nude.

He swallowed, “Yes, Sherlock, I do. I have for a long time now. You had to die for me to realize it and then it was too late. And then you came back. I guess I let my self get too comfortable. I won’t let what happened this morning happen again. I’m sorry.” John was going to turn and go to his room but Sherlock stopped him.

“Wait, John, please.” He took a tentative step towards John, “I don’t know how this works. I’ve never let myself feel anything like this for anyone before. And then, there was you. You helped me see what I was missing in my life. Just by being here, just being you. It isn’t easy for me to say things like ‘I love you’. But I do, John, love you.” He took another step towards John. They were just a step or two apart now.

John closed the gap and took Sherlock’s right hand and placed it over his heart. He placed his own right hand over Sherlock’s heart and said, “Thank you for coming back to me. I wished for a miracle once, at your grave, and I got my wish.” 

He moved his hands to Sherlock’s face, reached up and kissed him, to John’s great relief, Sherlock kissed back. They wrapped their arms around each other and stood in the middle of the room, and let the room embrace them both.

They were finally home.

“Sherlock, you are thinking too much, even I can hear you,” John said from his cozy spot tucked up on top of Sherlock.

“Hmmm, I was just thinking about our first kiss.” He rearranged his arms around John to hold him closer.

“I love kissing you. I wish I had done it sooner.” With that, he shifted and kissed Sherlock, as if to prove his point.

“And I you,” Sherlock returned the kiss, parting his lips to let John in. They always took their time when they kissed, neither wanting to miss a single sensation or response. Every sigh, every brush of lips was savored.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“I bought milk today.”

John smiled into Sherlock’s next kiss.

“I love you too, Sherlock.”


End file.
